The Fire Within
by eep13
Summary: The tale of a British agent temporarily assigned to Scotland Yard who, as time progresses, finds the prospect of returning to her MI6 work.. tedious. My take on how Sherlock Holmes might handle prospective romance, and a chance at love. Sherlock/OC
1. Prelude

_"We accept the love we think we deserve." - __Chbosky_

* * *

Mae sat at her desk, leaning back in her chair, sipping her cup of hot bitter coffee slowly. Dark hair and dark eyes graced her head, and while she wasn't stunning by any means she was beautiful in a quiet way. In the same quiet way, it might be said, that she made her way through the world. Still, there was a force within her small frame that was imposing, a force that gave others around her a sense that she was not to be tried, hence her job.

The clock on her mantelpiece chimed six o'clock, and she glanced up and out of her window. Watching as the snow outside swirled up and around, she reflected that she derived more pleasure from observing than she did by participating. Removing her glasses, she threw the papers she had been going over aside. The phone rang.

"Hello." she answered directly, her voice was rich and low, touched by a slight French accent. "Well I hadn't planned on it." She said standing. Grabbing her coat, she smiled. "Yes, goodbye."

As she sat on the train on her way to work, she observed the man across from her. He was covered in some sort of blood and was holding a harpoon. His expression was murderous.

"Fascinating, don't you think, that you're allowed to ride the tube and no one even inquires as to your appearance?" Mae mused.

"It's pig's blood." The man said indifferently.

"Even so, I didn't know that until you told me. Is it just that we are indifferent to violence, or because we crave it on some level, that you are left to your travels unmolested?"

"But I'm not, am I? You're molesting me this very moment." At this, Mae laughed.

"Quite. You've not answered my question."

"Your question was unfounded. Neither of your proposed scenarios is applicable. The fact that society has been desensitized to violence, and the fact that it is an inherent truth that men crave violence, is irrelevant. No one asks about the blood or the harpoon because they're frightened. They don't want to come into contact with a man of my appearance."

"Well," Mae said, glancing down the train car. No one was around for several seats. "I suppose I had assumed that was a given. My question was more philosophical and, it would seem, rhetorical." She smiled at the man who raised an eyebrow.

"Who are you? I mean - your name?"

"Mae."

"Born in southern france. English father, and... Czech mother? You've lived in England the majority of your life but attended university in America. As for your occupation I want to say finance... but that's not it."

Mae's smiled had not wavered, and now her dark eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Very curious that you should be so perceptive Mr. -"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Mr. Holmes." Mae surveyed him another long moment, and it was then the train slowed. "Well, this is me." And she stood and was gone..

Sherlock watched her go, noting the odd way that she had simply accepted his deductions, and had made no inquiries or particular exclamations regarding their accuracy. As he stepped off the train at the Baker Street station, he found himself pondering her uninhibited smile that seemed quiet alien given the circumstances.


	2. Beginnings

Mae sat typing. The people outside her office hurried past, often glancing through the large windows to catch a glimpse of the woman as she worked.

"Bennet, I've told you about a hundred times now."

"Mr. Scythe, I'm only being thorough. My reports are accurate and my profiling has been spot on so far."

"Yes, but you aren't on the payroll for psychological profiling are you?"

"Not technically, but I believe it's between the lines of my job description."

Mae smiled up at her boss demurely, and he sighed.

"It's alot to read over... try and write a bit more concisely at least. Now how about Belgrade?"

"You've asked twice now, and I've told you that I have no desire to travel to that region."

Her tone had adopted the slightest trace of steel, and Mr. Scythe understood that there would be no convincing her to take the assignment. He frowned.

"Fine. If you won't play nice you're grounded to the island." At these words, Mae's eyes snapped quickly to his. Her expression was serene but her gaze was piercing.

"Oh?"

"Yes. The Yard called about twenty minutes ago asking for a Balkan specialist. You're better than Mileusnić and since your docket has recently been wiped clean I think you can serve best if you take a car over there immediately."

"This is an interesting power play John. You won't issue a direct order. Inquiring politely is a perfect premise for my polite declination, yet here I am grounded and being sent off to aid the police? Don't you think I'd be of more use on the continent? Denmark's file was - "

"I want you to want to go to Belgrade Mae. I want you to be so bored here, you're aching to get down to Belgrade. Until then you're grounded, and will be spending your days at the Yard. I'll ask you again next wednesday how you feel about making he trip, and if you've changed your mind I'll clear you for any mission you'd like."

"This is textbook passive aggressive behavior."

"I've had an excellent instructor in that line of attitude."

Mae chuckled without humor and stood. Her blazer and skirt were close fitted, and the blue silver blouse peeked out just below her throat. Mr. Scythe handed her her coat with a smile.

"Have fun."

As Mae sat in the back of the car she watched London fly past, and reflected on the absurdity of the situation. Being reprimanded for thorough work and grounded for declining a mission which, by the way, had neither been ordered nor technically assigned to her, was ridiculous. Now she was to spend her time at Scotland Yard, helping the police dot their i's and cross their t's while other MI6 agents snatched up all of the interesting missions she had lined up for herself that month.

Mae was scowling darkly when she stepped out of the car.

"Miss. Bennet, is it?" an eager young lieutenant greeted her.

"Good evening." She said, and the smile flickered from the man's face. With effort, he rekindled it and shook her hand warmly.

"Thank you for coming by Miss. Bennet." They entered the lobby and proceeded to the offices in relative silence. "It's so rare to have an analyst to consult. The experts are - "

"I am not an analyst." Mae said without looking at him.

"Oh, but didn't they - " the man began but was interrupted as they arrived at their destination.

"Miss. Bennet, I think? I'm detective inspector Lestrade." He stood and shook her hand across his desk. "Andy she's an agent. Thank you, get back to your desk I'll be wanting that case history drawn up before quitting time."

The young man hurried out and Mae sat down in the chair opposite the DI.

"I've not been given any information, Inspector. What are the details regarding the case?"

"Well," Lestrade began, returning to his chair. "There have been three murders, all of them East Orthodox bishops. They're in town for a convention, or whatever their gathering's are called - "

"It is the ninth eccumenical council. Strange that it is taking place in London, and even stranger that it is taking place at all. The eastern church hasn't convened a council of this magnitude in almost 1500 years." Mae breathed, her expression very attentive. Though she herself was not religious, her mother's family had been devout orthodox christians.

"Well someone is targeting them."

"This council was called a month ago and they began proceedings last thursday... It was very secret. MI6 knew, of course, and now you know but the public doesn't."

"We figure it's an inside job."

"I doubt that." A voice floated across the room from the door. Mae turned in her chair to see the man from the tube.

"Sherlock Holmes, I believe." She smiled and he flashed a strange, toothless grin.

"Curious to see you here Ms. - "

"Bennet. Mae Bennet. Did I not introduce myself?"

"You two know each other?" a blonde man besides the Mr. Holmes quipped. "I'm John Watson, by the way."

"Yes we met on the train. He was covered with blood and wielding a harpoon."

"Well we'll come back to that," Lestrade interrupted. "But I want you to tell me why it's not an inside job Sherlock."

"The eastern orthodox church is ancient and dogmatic. Every insider is firmly gripped with the fear of god, and would do nothing, especially against a church elder, to endanger their mortal soul. No, it's no one from the church."

"Another church perhaps? The Catholics?"

"Unlikely." Mae said, returning her attention to the Inspector. "Members of the Orthodox church are the only non-catholic's allowed to take communion in the Catholic church."

"Anglican?"

"Perhaps, but that is also unlikely."

"Well it has to be religiously motivated."

"Most assuredly, but it would surprise me if it was a religious sect of any kind."

"And what, pray, makes you an expert on the subject?" Sherlock interjected. Mae flashed a smile.

"You guessed my mother was Czech."

"I deduced -

"Well she wasn't. Still, she and I, as a result, are Slavic and perhaps more importantly, I've studied not only religion but political theory, philosophy, psychology, history and linguistics as well."

"I don't think linguistics applies to our immediate - "

"Doesn't it though?" She interrupted, smile widening. "Have you not read the note left on the body of the third bishop?" He glanced to her hands which held a folder. His left eye twitched almost imperceptibly.

"No." She handed it to him and he read the note. The purge of the scourge is begun and will end when the last voice of the vesper is sung; Let those unadorned be rid of their bete noir. "Which set of skills has led you to determine that this was not written by a religious fanatic?"

"Is it vespers, that has you thrown for a loop?"

"Miss. Bennet, a vesper is a church service performed in the late afternoon or early evening. The next Orthodox vesper is tomorrow so we can expect at least one more murder."

"True... and yes we can expect at least one more murder. However, the vesper referred to in the note is a bell, I believe. Furthermore, the use of the word unadorned - and especially the phrase bete noir, implies an atheistic ideology. "

Sherlock surveyed her a moment.

"True. But.. A vesper bell is rarely -"

"All the same, next week there is a christmas concert in St. Paul's. As always, the conclusion will be Carol of The Bells. I think that is what the writer was leading us towards."

"That's an interesting theory." Lestrade said, glancing over to Sherlock as if seeking confirmation.

"Who are you, anyway?" Mae asked Sherlock, noting the Detective Inspector's behavior.

"I am a consulting detective."

"That is a curious job title."

"What's yours?"

"MI6 agent specializing in Eastern European and Russian affairs."

"Marvelous." Sherlock breathed.

"So, is it a bell or a church service or what's going on?" Lestrade demanded.

"It is a bell." Sherlock said, staring intently at Mae. "And we should assume it's a former religious zealot turned atheist."

"Very good." Mae said without any trace of arrogance, turning back to Lestrade.

"And bete noire is French." John said smartly.

"Yes, but the author of the note isn't." Sherlock said, striding over to the desk.

"How do you know that?"

"Do you see the flourish?" Mae asked, placing the letter on Lestrade's desk. "The front of the W's and block style indicate Gothic calligraphy and that, coupled with the density of the pulp used in the paper, I would definitely cast the author as German."

"Indeed." Sherlock said as he looked out the window.

"Well." Lestrade managed, staring at Mae. "That is interesting."

"It was America though, wasn't it? For university?"

"Yes," Mae laughed. "Dartmouth. To answer your silent question, my mother was Serbian. But you were right about everything else."

"Interesting." Lestrade said, looking up at Sherlock as Mae stood smiling.

...

Mae stood staring down out the window of her new corner office. The Yard was always very generous with its accommodations and resources when playing host to MI6 agents. She watched the stars overhead for a few moments before something clicked in her head.

"Oh but that's too obvious." She sat quickly in her chair and started scanning her computer almost frantically.

"It seems you've come to some sort of a conclusion." Sherlock Holmes' voice floated across the room. She looked up to see that he had mysteriously materialized in the doorway.

"Hello. Yes, I have actually. Fatal mistake of a mind searching for complex answers to complex problems."

"It seems we share that particular... deficiency. The answer was to simple to occur without first eliminating the elaborate alternatives."

"Verily, Mr. Holmes. Shall we inform Lestrade?"

"Oh, I already did. They're compiling profiles and checking cameras and hotels near the bishop's - "

"You already informed Lestrade?" Mae cut him off gently, but her eyes were wide.

"Yes. As I said - "

"Why did you do that?" Sherlock frowned at this.

"Because it's... well you came to the same conclusion that I did so what does it matter, my telling the Inspector?"

Mae stood up and strolled around her desk until she was directly in front of Sherlock, looking up at him with the slightest trace of indignation.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm sure you can surmise why I am here... I am no analyst, so me consulting is a rare occurrence. If I'm not directly responsible for apprehending the perpetrator, my supervisor will be very unimpressed. What am I doing here? Nothing, apparently. And you Mr. Holmes, as a consulting detective, was it? You don't have a boss to answer to. But congratulations on your little victory, you seem very pleased with yourself." And she walked past him out of her office.

"I am, thank you." He said after her.

Mae stalked to the detective inspector's office."

DI Lestrade, I know that Mr. Holmes has relayed his theory to you and I wanted to say that the same idea was developing in my mind and, well - I just wanted to say that I agree with his conclusion on the subject."

Lestrade looked up and smiled, "Brilliant." But before he could manage anything else, Mae had swept off and out of Scotland Yard. She walked down the London sidewalks fuming. This amateur consulting detective was making her look slow on the uptake... Something to which she was unaccustomed. People passing Mae took large steps to stay out of her way if they saw the expression on her face; it was murderous.

"Miss. Bennet." An unwelcome voice called from behind. Collecting herself, she turned to manage a smile at Sherlock Holmes. The large white flakes of snow resting on his hair and jacket were, Mae found herself marking, complimentary to his alien charms.

"Mr. Holmes." She greeted. He was frowning.

"An objective individual such as yourself should take no offense to outside assistance."

"Well as you know, I didn't actually need any assistance, but you're right. I shouldn't have taken your attempt at a career as being a personal offensive."

Sherlock glared at her, trying to determine if her tone was sincere or sardonic. Mae was checking her watch.

"Now, if you would excuse me Mr. Holmes, there's a private screening of The Fire Within at the Vue, and I'll just make it if I leave right now."

"Subtitles are tedious." Sherlock quipped, displeased that their conversation was coming to an end.

"There'll be none of those tonight." Mae said with a smirk.

"Ah yes, you speak French... And Serbian? Of course. Any others?"

"A few other Slavic dialects, Russian... them Italian, Spanish, German and Greek."

"No asian languages. That's curious."

"I have a special sentimentality for the European continent, and this island. Now if you'll excuse me Mr. Holmes, goodnight."

Sherlock watched her walk away, and when she turned the corner out of sight he spun on his heel and doubled back to Baker st.


	3. A Check on Impudence

The wind was roaring outside 221B and John stood watching it.

"Can you believe this? It's a real blizzard out there."

"What time is it?"

"Six thirty." John replied, glancing down at his phone. Sherlock stood and grabbed his coat, shrugging it on. "Are you going somewhere?"

"No." and it was at that moment the front bell rang. The two men stood and listened as Mrs. Hudson opened the door. There were muffled voices and then footsteps on the stairs. Mae Bennet appeared in their entryway. Her hat and coat were flecked with large snowflakes and her face was flushed, cheeks red from the chill outside.

"Mr. Holmes." She breathed, and her eyes were alight with a distinct rage.

"Miss. Bennet, I trust you've heard."

"Yes I just had a call from your brother."

"Wait, what's happened?" John asked, taking note of Mae's clenched fists.

"Well John," Sherlock began. "The murderer of the orthodox bishops has been arrested. I suspect he is being interrogated now at -"

"Yes, at MI5 headquarters." Mae said quietly.

"Who was it?" John asked, curious.

"Rogue, ex-IRA man. Name isn't important but - "

"You orchestrated a raid via Lestrade without any evidence to back up a warrant... you were lucky he had a weapon arsenal and whiteboards outlining his future plans." Mae said stiffly, trying and failing to conceal her agitation.

"You seem put off, Miss. Bennet. A dangerous criminal was apprehended today." Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back, a smug smirk touching his lips. "Don't the good guys, as it stands, celebrate on occasions such as these?"

"Are we supposed to be impressed by your arrogant disregard for proper procedure when -"

"Yes." Sherlock interrupted. "I believe we had a discussion concerning objectivity the other day. You don't seem to be interpreting this news appropriately or rationally, as it were."

Mae stared at him.

"Conventionality is not your style, I see." She said, relaxing her hands. "Having all this kept from me, intentionally, and conducting your raid whlie I was out of the office on personal business was childish of you. Especially after our discussion the other day... And having your brother call- "

"I was not aware that Mycroft knew of the arrest." Sherlock interrupte again, bristling at her insults. "I don't have regular contact with him and I - Perhaps if you had been at work instead of away on, personal business did you say? you might have participated."

"My cousin was in a car accident in Surrey, I was his emergency contact."

"The separation of private affairs from the workplace is quite essential when it comes to progressing ones career. I take it from the fact that you returned just after lunch that he lived? It couldn't have been a _so_ serious.." As Sherlock said this John threw him a dark look.

Mae gazed at him incredulously.

"You've a very high opinion of yourself Mr. Holmes, and I find you ridiculous." Mae said cooly, indifferently.

John laughed outright, but quickly stopped at catching sight of Sherlock's expression.

Sherlock had been insulted before, but never so sincerely that it really felt personal.

Mae stood in her smart hat and coat, so chic and haughty... Sherlock felt the blood run hot beneath his skin.

"Ridiculous?" He scoffed. "And why shouldn't I have a high opinion of myself? I solved the case, the murderer was apprehended. I think this entire scene is the result of wounded pride on your end, having failed to complete your assignment."

Mae surveyed him a moment, debating whether or not it was worth her rising temper to respond.

"Mr. Holmes, you are insolent and conceited and I think it best that if ever we meet again, you keep well out of my way and refrain from addressing me. One can only tolerate so much, and I've no desire to be on any kind of terms with you, henceforth."

"Conceit? And what is it that places such a lofty expression on your face, and such arrogance in your words? Not humility, certainly."

"Arrogance has to be earned, Mr. Holmes. The difference between you and I, is I know my place. Good evening Mr. Watson."

And she was gone. Sherlock stood staring after her a few moments.

"Well that was strange." John said after a while, slowly crossing the room to sit down in his chair. "Why didn't you tell her? She was on the case and it was my impression you - well you didn't _dislike_ her."

"It wasn't necessary to tell her, we got the man didn't we?" Sherlock said quietly, removing his coat. "And what gave you the impression that I liked her?"

"I didn't say you liked her." John said, staring interestedly at his friend. "I said you didn't _dislike_ her... yesterday you were commenting on her education and knowledge of languages, and were speculating as to how extensive her travels as an MI6 agent had been."

"Well, what of it?"

"What of it?! You don't take interest in people unless they're criminals or... Wait a minute. Why did you ask the time, and put on your coat before?"

Sherlock sat in his chair and glared at John.

"What does that matter?"

"Ah." John said, picking up the newspaper and pretending to read it as his mind worked. "That's very interesting."

"What are you on about?"

"You knew Mycroft had told her. And I suppose you fancied she might want to discuss the case... run through the details with you. Over coffee, or the like."

Sherlock sat and stared indignantly at John, who ignored him completely while persuing the paper.

Sherlock did not correct him.


	4. L'ideé de Russes

Mae was unable to handle any failure, perceived or otherwise. It was simply not in her nature.

It's a phenomenon, the effects that parents can have on their children.

Mae's mother had been the heiress to a fortune amassed by her father. She had been a proud and beautiful woman who had won Laurence Bennet's attention; but never his heart. Although technically a genius by mathematical tests, she was too shallow and ridiculous to have any sway over Maes father. Anja Bennet had spent her days on her estate in the south of Italy. When fawning over her daughter only ignited contempt from Mae, Anja had thrown her child to her father, devoting her life to frivolous pursuits and drink.

Laurence Bennet was another type of being entirely. Tall and blonde with striking features, there wasn't a debate he could lose, there wasn't a fight he couldn't win. He had been a top agent for the British government... His only competition it turned out, his only real threat, had been himself.

The words of Mae's father rang in her ears, a strange image of his signature phrase flashing before her eyes; _failure is not an option._

Mae paced her spacious flat, jaw clenched. Her mind was racing.

The answer had been so obvious, so simple, so easy... but she had followed the rules. She had let personal matters -

Mae stood up, outraged. Furious beyond comprehension.

Her cousin had been killed, and she had still returned to work. That was her truth... And Sherlock Holmes had made her to feel guilty.

Tears of grief and fury streamed down her face. Mae hadn't cried since she was twelve.

It was in Prague. She was twelve, and a man had thrown himself in front of a train at the station. Mae had screamed and cried and clutched at her father's hand. He had only said, "_It was his choice. This is life, daughter. We, all of us, choose our own end._"

Ironic, that Mae should have been witness to the scene that would serve as an inspiration of sorts for her father 8 years later.

**Had he been proud of her?**

Mae covered her face with her hands, agonizing over the obvious pathetic nature of the question.  
But was it pathetic?

She threw a lamp across the room and smashed a hole through her favorite painting. Mae stood and resumed her pacing.

She was to be at Scotland yard another four days at the very least. Something was bound to come up... She had time to make up for her shortcomings...

Mae sat down in her favorite armchair and dried her eyes. She had toppled three regimes, exposed several ambassador's scandals, sent countless war criminals to the hague... and here she was fretting over a "consulting detective". Pure vanity.

True, he had bested her. And she considered her failure unforgivable. It was winning, victory, that gave Mae pleasure. Nothing else.

She glanced over to the mantle and pondered the single framed picture. It was of Mae with her Dartmouth degree. Her father had his arm around her and he was smiling. The smile was genuine, no doubt.

His daughter was a success, destined for a distinguished career in espionage... But Mae was not examining her fathers face. She stared at his hand, which hovered several inches away from her shoulder.

He had so little love that affectionate contact would have been a painful exertion.

"An Ivy adorned prize to show to the world, that's all I was..." Mae said aloud, reaching for a bottle of Chablis. "The love of a daughter? Worthless ..." The cork popped. "Nothing. Ah." She poured the wine until the glass was brimming. "But a _prize_ to gloat about is _something_. Much more rewarding than the affection of daughter. And - That's winning."

She threw back the glass of wine and ignored her phone as it rang from the other room.

"Is it worth it?" She mused, refilling her glass. "I had had the case solved, same as he... fate intervened. Why am I so upset? It's - that's it, it's instinct now... I - " She stopped, but only to drink the second glass of wine in three gulps. She was laughing. "It's all for nothing!"

Mae looked at the picture over the mantle.

"Well, are you pleased with me father?"

Sh stood and let the empty wine bottle topple.

Mae was rich, respected, beautiful.. and totally devastated by her own self loathing.

"And I can't even blame you." She whispered, touching the glass over the photograph. "You said we choose, and I have chosen..."

Mae turned away quickly.

"Well this is life, and failure is not an option." She slapped herself across her face, noting the cliche action and steeling herself against self reproach. "Pull yourself together Mae, you have standards for a reason."

The phone rang again.

Mae glanced once more to the picture of her and her father.

"_You can either pull it together or put a pistol in your mouth."_

Sighing, she turned away.

Self destruction was something she was constantly checking herself against.

Laurence Bennet had been dead seven years, and Mae recognized that she was being self indulgent by entertaining her feelings of despair.

And it was despair. As previously mentioned, Mae was unable to cope with defeat.

The phone rang a third time.

Mae tore her eyes from her father's face and went to pick up her cell. It was Lestrsde. They wanted her at the Yard.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the thoughts she knew were pointless, she noted the late hour and hurried out the door; determined to reclaim her footing that she had momentarily lost.


	5. Old Friends

Mae hurried down the stairs of her building and stepped out into the frosty night. There was a car waiting and she stepped in, removing her gloves and glancing at the man next to her.

"Yes?" She asked.

"Mae Benett." He greeted her, and an electricity shot through the entire car. The man felt it and laughed.

"Smo nedostaješ u Srbiji."

"Milos." Mae said stiffly, brain racing to figure out how she could escape.

"Do you just climb into any car, without even looking to see who's in it?" Milos asked, laughter in his voice.

"Mmmm. Touché. Now, what exactly is this about?"

"Your friends in the Balkans miss their most precious jewel."

"Hmm..." Mae trailed off, glancing out the window. The car was racing through the streets.

"We had your phone tapped. Anyway _Mae_, you can't really be surprised."

"No, it's just curious that after I help your cause you abduct me and... You know there are going to be alot of people looking for me."

"Well we have a fast car, and an even faster plane waiting for us. And once youre in Vojvodina they won't be able to find you, unless we light the way for them."

Mae frowned, but felt no fear.

Failure was a legitimate cause of distress. Being taken hostage by a ruthless organization was cause for heightened senses and a mind as clear as crystal. This was Mae's element. This was what kept her heart beating; slowly, evenly. She turned to her captor and smiled.

"Milos Hadranović. It's been a while though, hasn't it?" He flashed a dazzling grin, but his eyes smoldered.

"You have been missed."

"I believe you."

"Josif, Daragomir and Ratko will be at the manor when we arrive. Josif organized the entire operation."

"You'll what? Demand a ransom from the government, and when they refuse you'll torture me. They'll stand firm, and refuse to negotiate with terrorists. You'll torture me some more - which as the lot of you know will result in no new information for you, sorry - but _then_ you'll go to the press. You'll go to the American press first, because you're smart. The UK will be under pressure and they'll make a deal under the table. So... you guys get to earn a fortune by slapping me around for a few weeks."

"That's about it, yeah." He even laughed. "You know us so well... why did you betray us?"  
Mae looked hard at the man next to her. He was handsome with his dark hair and dark eyes, but she despised him.

"Milos, I betrayed no one. I helped you and your friends in your plot to oust Croatian warlords. That was my assignment. Those men are now in the Hague for Crimes Against Humanity so I'm not really sure where the word "betrayal" is coming from?"

"Miljenik, we are your countrymen. Your brothers. You come and you work righteous acts, and then you leave."

"Don't call me darling Milos, I believe we've addressed that issue before."

"As you like, pićka."

Mae slapped him but Milos just laughed.

"You're only making it worse for yourself." He said smiling _again_. She turned away from him. The car was slowing down and she saw a helicopter.

Mae knew that she would probably survive if she behaved, but she had no intention of co-operating with these thugs. As she was taken and strapped into the helicopter her mind was awhirl with the single objective of escaping her captors. Milos was watching her and seemed to know what she was thinking.

"You try anything love, and I'll personally ensure your will to live is diminished to the point that you're content to sit quiet like a nice girl does when men tell her to."

Mae looked at Milos and understood exactly what he was implying. However, his words did nothing to frighten her. Instead, he only strengthened her resolve.  
The helicopter lifted off the ground and Mae felt a sinking feeling as she realized just what kind of ramifications her abduction would have.

...

Sherlock paced Lestrade's office.

"Well, we're not going to wait all day are we?" He snapped. The DI just rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock," John said. "Relax. She'll be here."

"Yeah, and she'll like this one." Lestrade began. "Some Serbian thugs broke into some bloke's estate over in Lincolnshire and took a helicopter and... well that's it so far, but the security footage has been analyzed and these guys are dangerous. Ruthless, I mean," he glanced down at a file shaking his head. "The stuff they've done."

Sherlock's face was a thunderstorm and John was watching him when a voice sounded, and the three men turned to see Mycroft Holmes standing in the doorway.

"You are right, Detective Inspector, to say that Miss. Bennet would be enthusiastic to apprehend the thieves." Mycroft said in his drawling voice, his his expression was quite severe.

"What are you -" John began, but Mycroft raised a hand to silence him.

"These men." Mycrost said, addressing Sherlock and closing the door behind him. "Are part of a paramilitary organization in Serbia. Mae was assigned three years ago to work with them in the capture of several war criminals that were enemy not only to the interests of the UK, but to Serbia as well. Anyway, she was working with them for over a year. The mission was successful, but it seems that they have become ungrateful in regard to our 'friendship' with them. They abducted Miss. Bennet an hour ago, using the stolen helicopter to escape our grid of detection."

"What?" John managed.

"Mae's been abducted by very bad men." Mycroft said, checking his phone and quickly pocketing it. "We have all available resources on this, but I thought I should tell you."

"Right." Lestrade said, looking at Mycroft. "Who are you again?"

"I'm Mycroft Holmes. Yes," he said in response to Lestrade's look of surprise. "his brother. Now, do excuse me, I'm late to tea with the PM. Goodevening."

The three men stood in Lestrade's office for a long while in uninterrupted silence.

"So what do we do?" Lestrade managed. "I mean, I'm the police. I can't really - "

"We know." Sherlock said harshly. "But we can do something." He tied his scarf on and made for the door.

As they were leaving the Yard John, who had been running things over in his head finally grabbed Sherlock's arm.

"Hold on. Just... Mycroft said he's working on it. You aren't thinking of involving yourself?" But he knew the answer.

"Of course I am. We're going to save her. At least I am, if you aren't feeling up to it."

The two friends stared at each other then, amazingly, John cracked a grin.

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

"You like her."

"Yes... She's a fine agent. Even if I didn't like her I would still - "

"Eh!" John raised a hand, cutting him off. "You _might_ have saved her under other circumstances, but this... you _like _this woman. Oh!" he exclaimed. "Look at your face."

"John, time is of the essence." John chuckled at Sherlock's blustered response. The detective was opening the door of a black cab, his expression distant; lost in thought.

"Right." John smiled, but then he shook his head remembering the serious nature of Mae's situation. He began to mentally steel himself for the dangerous days ahead. "Right."


End file.
